Authors: Gin Jones
Richard Senior finally looked up from his digging and answered for his son. "I like the quiet. My house is on a quiet street."
"It used to be anyway, back when Dad first bought the place," RJ said with a chuckle. "I've pretty much gotten used to it. Even construction noise. There's always something being built or rebuilt over at Wharton Meadows, and a new house went in around the corner last year."
"I'm sure you'd have noticed the bulldozer if you were awake." No one could have ignored the roar of an engine like what she'd heard at Sheryl's work site, not if it had been a hundred or so feet away. She'd barely been able to hear herself speak when she'd been talking to Marty at the construction site, and those vehicles had been several times as far away. "Do you remember when you got up on Saturday?"
"That's easy," RJ said. "It's the same time every day. Go to bed at midnight, get up at oh-four-hundred and oh-eight-hundred like clockwork. Dad gets meds every four hours, so it's twelve, four, and eight, day and night. I don't even need to set my alarm for the oh-four-hundred dose any longer. I just get up, wake Dad enough to take his pills, and then we're both asleep again as if we never got up. Until it's time to do it all again at eight."
"That narrows down when Sheryl got here, at least," Helen said. "It must have been between four and eight."
"I suppose you're right," RJ said. "If I was awake, I'd have noticed the engine running. Probably felt it too. This old house shakes every time a heavy truck travels down Lee Street."
"But you didn't notice anything unusual after you got up that morning?"
He shook his head. "Afraid not. Dad running around the yard in his underwear is a little too common to be considered unusual. Beyond that, I don't pay much attention to anything going on outside the house. Watching Dad is a full-time job, and then some."
Was that what Helen's nieces were worried about? That she would become that much of a burden on them someday? She'd sign herself into a nursing home before she let that happen.
RJ tugged on his father's arm again, succeeding this time in getting his father to stand.
Paul Young appeared just in time to ask, "Do you need any help getting him back home?"
"No, I've got it." RJ reached for the wooden spoon, and Richard Senior lashed out, landing a solid kick on his son's shin.
Helen winced in sympathy. That had to have hurt.
RJ sucked in a startled breath and closed his eyes for a moment before slowly emptying his lungs. When he opened them again, his face was a little rueful but free of anger. "I guess I was asking for that by being so cocky. But I really can handle him most of the time." He returned the spoon to his father. "Come on, Dad. It's time to go in now. We've got chores to do."
"Chores?" Richard Senior said. "Libby doesn't like it when I don't do my chores."
"Exactly," RJ said, urging his father up the slope toward the house. "Mom needs us to keep the house properly maintained."
While they drifted off toward the farmhouse, Helen turned to Paul. "I thought RJ was caring for his father alone."
"He is. Libby died five years ago."
Paul nodded at the other side of the garden. "How are your peas?"
"I don't know," Helen said. "I wanted to get a closer look at the bulldozer first."
"Not too close I hope. There's been one tragedy already."
"I still don't understand how that could have happened," Helen said. "I'm told that Sheryl was highly skilled at operating a bulldozer."
Paul shrugged. "All vehicles are dangerous weapons. I am always telling my crews that. You have to respect the horsepower and tonnage. Even so, it is easy to get distracted and make a mistake."
"Is that what you think happened?" Helen said. "She got distracted and made a fatal mistake?"
"I think it is not my job to find out what happened to her. I told the police what I know, and they will do what is necessary. I can do nothing more."
"Did you notice anything unusual that morning?" Helen asked. "I think I was the last to arrive for the blessing of the garden, and it looked like you'd been here for a while by then."
"I was the first person here. Other than Sheryl, of course." He looked away for a moment, an air of sadness replacing his usual cheerfulness. He took a deep breath, and his smile returned as he faced Helen again. "Dawn is the best time to be in a garden. At least for me. I worked outdoor jobs with early starts until I became the head of the Park and Rec Department, and I never got out of the habit of getting up with the sunrise. That morning I was completely focused on the serenity of the garden until you arrived. Everything seemed right with the world."
"You didn't think the bulldozer's presence was odd?"
"I did at first, but then I thought someone might have asked for Sheryl's help in removing the stumps." He pointed at the front of the dozer where the blade was touching a partially pulled-out stump. "Sheryl had already pushed another one out of the ground before she died. Might have been what led to her death, in fact. A dozer is not the best choice for removing stumps. I do not know why she brought it instead of an excavator.
If Sheryl had been invited, it did make it more likely the death had been accidental. "I can't picture the garden club's president asking Sheryl for a favor right now."
"True," Paul said. "Dale wouldn't call Sheryl, but Annie would. Dale leaves most of the day-to-day operations to her, and Annie's been complaining for years about how messy the stumps look. Personally, I do not mind them. They offer seating for much-needed breaks from kneeling and bending, and the gardeners like to decorate them for the holidays. There are some who believe they are homes to spirits who watch over the garden."
"But not Annie?"
"No," he said. "Annie does not believe in spirits or even nature, except as something to subdue. She is a bookkeeper through and through. She craves the orderliness of numbers in neatly lined-up columns even when she is working with nature. She does not tolerate any of her plants growing beyond the rigid boundaries she sets for them."
Helen wrinkled her nose. "She's going to hate my garden then. I was planning to do a lot of broadcast seeding and then hope for the best."
"Nature does not care about straight lines." Paul looked in the direction of Helen's plot. "Let us go see how your peas are doing."
Helen chose the long way around the bulldozer, returning to the sidewalk instead of tromping through the uneven dirt. Even though she felt more herself these days, the habit of avoiding potential tripping hazards was thoroughly ingrained.
Paul walked with her but reached her plot before she did. He knelt at the far end where her five little pea plants were.
Helen blinked. Not five, but four. The one closest to her neighbor's plot was missing. She didn't think a bug had gotten this one because the little plastic collar was gone too. "Someone stole my pea plant."
"Theft is rare in a community garden, but it can happen." Paul bent to get a closer look at the spot where the missing plant had last been seen. "In this case, however, I believe your neighbor stepped on it by mistake and then tried to cover it up." He traced the faint outline of a footprint right where the plant had been.
If her gardening neighbor would cover up such a petty crime, what else might he be hiding? She'd better keep an eye on him in case he had more serious secrets. "Do you know who was assigned this plot?"
"You would have to ask Dale or Annie," he said as he stood and brushed his hands against his jeans. "The Park and Rec Department is a cosponsor of the garden, but we leave the plot assignments to the garden club. I am more than happy to let them deal with squabbles over which plots are better and whether the allocation was fair. I already spend too much of my time placating dissatisfied citizens who believe they have been shortchanged in some way."
"I bet you do." Helen had seen it often enough during her ex-husband's career. Constituents had always been complaining to Frank that someone else had been treated better than they had, although it had frequently turned out that the different treatment was for perfectly legitimate reasons. "Did you ever have to deal with complaints about Sheryl?"
Paul shrugged. "A few. No more than any other contractor doing jobs for the town, and there were people who praised her too. Even Dale would tell you that Sheryl contributed more than her fair share to the various private initiatives to improve the town's recreational facilities."
"Was there anyone in particular who complained about her?"
"Someone who might have killed her, you mean?" Paul shook his head. "No. Nothing like that. It was never anything more than the usual petty jealousies and temporary inconveniences."
"That's good to hear." Helen turned back toward the sidewalk. Unlike some of the other people she'd talked to, Paul didn't have any reason to make unwarranted assumptions about the circumstances of Sheryl's death. If he didn't think there was anything suspicious about it, then maybe it was time that Helen let go of her own doubts.
Paul fell into step with her and offered his arm for support as they climbed up the slope. It was only as they reached the sidewalk that he added, "Of course, the tension between Dale and Sheryl increased after Fred Lawson left the land to the town. During the selectmen's meeting, Dale said she'd make sure Sheryl regretted the day she'd made a bid to purchase this land."
* * *
After Paul left to return to his office, Helen looked for her car, planning to ask Jack to recommend a place where she could try something new for lunch since she'd be eating alone. Jack must have parked farther away than usual or gotten caught in traffic since her Subaru Forester wasn't anywhere in sight. Helen was starting to think something might have happened to him when she heard her name being called.
Annie Quattrone was across the street, next to the
Dear Crossing
sign, dressed for office work in black pants and a turquoise knit shirt instead of her gardening clothes. She gestured for Helen to come over and join her.
Helen checked for traffic and saw her car coming toward her. She waved at Jack and then pointed at Annie to let him know where she was going. He waved back and continued down the street, presumably to return to wherever he'd been parked before.
She gave one last irritable glance at the
Dear Crossing
sign before stepping out into the street. She was particularly glad she didn't have her cane with her. She might look older than her actual age of forty-six, but at least she wasn't too close a match to the decrepit creatures on the sign.
"Have you had lunch yet?" Annie said as soon as Helen reached the other side of the street. "I was on my way to the dining hall when I saw you, and I'd really like to talk to you about the garden's future."
Helen had some questions of her own, and Annie might well have the answers. "I'd love to have lunch with you."
Annie pointed out the various features of the Wharton Meadows campus as they walked. The residential buildings were unremarkable—three-story brick buildings with white trim and nothing to differentiate them other than the numbers on the front doors—but the landscaping was both artistically designed and meticulously maintained. Each of the residences had a wave of daffodils near the foundation, while the administrative building had an impressive display of tulips in a circular bed at the base of a massive flagpole.
They passed the administrative building where Annie said both she and her husband had their offices and continued all the way to the very center of the campus. From the outside, the dining hall was just another bland brick building somewhat hidden by the surrounding apartments since it was only one-and-a-half stories high. Inside, though, it looked like an upscale restaurant that had fallen on some hard times and was showing its age. Oversized windows let in natural sunshine, and the high ceilings made the place feel more spacious than it was. White tablecloths and small vases of flowers added a bit of luxury. On the other hand, there were too many tables for the space, and the gray tweed carpeting could no longer camouflage all the stains that had accumulated over time. A buffet line was discretely hidden in the corner, and three young women in white blouses and black pants waited at the end to help anyone who couldn't carry her own tray.
It was apparently late for the lunch crowd, nearing 1:30, so only half a dozen tables were occupied. Nevertheless, there was plenty of food in the buffet, and it looked both healthy and tasty. Annie recommended the tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich combination. "The soup is made from scratch here on site, so there's less sodium and more flavor from herbs. We get the bread from a local bakery."
"Sounds good." Helen ladled some soup into a bowl while the cook behind the counter made her sandwich. When it was ready, she continued down the line to check out the desserts. They were offered in tiny portions, but they appeared to make up for the size with the richness of their ingredients. Helen added a plate of three bite-sized fruit tarts to her tray before heading to the beverage setup. While she poured herself a cup of hot water for tea, one of the young women carried Helen's tray over to a table deep in a corner of the room, between the front and side walls, one of the rare places where the carpet still looked new. A few weeks ago, Helen would have been limping and attracting all sorts of unwanted assistance in the trip across the room, and it was nice not to have to deal with that today.
Annie was already at the table, seated with her back to one of the walls and her napkin tucked in her lap. "Go ahead and eat while everything's still hot. We can talk afterwards."
Helen took the other seat that faced out into the room and settled in to eat in comfortable silence. Once she'd had a chance to try everything except the tarts, she said, "This food is great. I don't suppose they do takeout."
Annie smiled. "They do, but just for the residents."
"Too bad," Helen said. "A friend of mine would have loved this soup. We have lunch together frequently, and I'm not much of a cook. He's not ready for the old-age home yet though."